Showing posts with label Piano. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Piano. Show all posts

Monday, March 18, 2019

I'd Love to Turn You On #227 - Keith Jarrett - The Köln Concert


“A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty.” Winston S. Churchill
Keith Jarrett’s The Köln Concert is a remarkable piece of music. It has substance technically, and it is a prime example of a when all the circumstances align, good and bad, to create a masterpiece that defines a genre. As much as ECM is enjoying a creative resurgence over the last few years, this record is still ECM’s best-selling record without a question. When I first listened to the record I was struck by the range of genres that Jarrett draws from and utilizes. Clearly it is a jazz record, but within that he shows us aspects of classical, gospel, blues, and rock. I listened to it a lot. As with many records, the more I listened the more it seemed to open up for me and reveal new secrets and treasures. This was before I really knew the story of the circumstances around the recording, which in my opinion makes the record even more remarkable.
In January of 1975, Keith Jarrett, suffering from a lack of sleep and severe back pain,
arrived in Cologne (Köln) Germany to play a concert at the Opera House. To his dismay he discovered that the piano he requested to play had not been obtained, but instead, a smaller, inferior piano in need of repair had been wheeled on stage. Faced with either the prospect of cancelling the show or performing on the smaller, inadequate instrument he chose to perform on the ailing piano. Certain characteristics of the piano were weak: the bass register was underwhelming, the high register was thin and frail, forcing him to play the majority of the music in the middle register. In addition the sustain pedal, which allows a piano player to hold out notes for extended durations, was malfunctioning. Which brings me to the quote at the top. For whatever reason Keith Jarrett decided to play this concert as opposed to cancelling it, and we have the legendary result.
ECM is a label that has a different philosophy than some other jazz labels. They did not have the blues, swing, or style of Blue Note, or the new funk of the CTI label. Rather ECM had a concept of reflection and meditativeness, or awareness. This awareness was balanced with a coolness and a distance. This concept was often reinforced with a naturalistic cover art that showed a harsh and bleak northern European outdoors. An exception was made for the cover art for The Köln Concert. It features a black and white photo of Jarrett with his head slumped over, playing the piano. He seems immersed or entranced. Rather than market the distant landscapes of an icy north ECM chose to market a personality. It seemed to work. The sales have been prolific.
It has been said that this record was one of the bedrock records for “New Age” music. However ECM’s cerebral detachment and headiness is the opposite of music that is put on for yoga, inspiration, or stress management. This record may be in the center of a certain Venn diagram that allows for people to speculate that it is “New Age” but they would be mistaken. The musical language is too sophisticated. This record might be in somebody’s record collection next to Ornette Coleman, Black Sabbath, or George Winston. It has also earned a reputation as chillout record or stoner record. So yes it has a reputation, but to dismiss it as “New Age” would be incorrect.
The concert is divided into four parts. Over two LPs Pt. 1 takes up side A, and then Pt. 2 is split into A, B, and C, over the three remaining sides (or tracks on CD). Part One begins with a reflective and melancholic melodic exploration. This gives way to a progression of major chords that leads to a brief ostinato, or recurring melodic motif. After the ostinato, melodic ideas and runs begin to occur. The right hand flourishes gain in frequency over a left hand ostinato and then start to fade out. These cascading runs continue for a few minutes then the intensity of the ostinato increases by way of thickening chords. Jarrett must sustain all the motion and energy with his fingers since the sustain pedal is broken, which makes the pure sound generated much more impressive. Around the 11-minute mark, harmonic variety is introduced and changes the tone of the piece. Instead of just alternating between a few chords he allows a progression to develop, which allows a broadness and depth into the music. Near the 15-minute mark another slower, reflective section is introduced. He explores the upper register of the piano in a way that would not necessarily exploit its deficiencies. By gently probing the upper register and not exploring it in full force he can make the instrument speak without making it sound overly trebly. Much of the chordal movement in the next few minutes seems to be an exploration of the mid register and low register, a gauging of the piano’s capabilities. At the 21-minute mark another ostinato, or rhythmic bed is established. This ostinato is a thicker bed, in the middle register where the piano is most fundamentally sound. The vamp gradually expands with melodic statements, explorations into the bass region, and increases in density through rhythmic activity. This motif closes out the first improvisation.
Pt. 2 A begins with Jarrett again setting up a rhythmic figure in his left hand which he can play a short melody over and begin to improvise. He sets up the tonality and mood by repeating the melody a few times and letting the vamp settle over the first minute and a half. He then begins to improvise with quite a bit of energy. At almost six minutes into the improvisation Jarrett seems to work into some block chords that provide relief from the rhythmic figure for a moment; they also provide a glimpse of a different texture, one that he will work his way towards. He then returns to the ostinato with more vigor and reinforces the figure in the bass register to work it to a climax. Around eight minutes into the piece he shifts moods to a much more somber, exploratory, and harmonically rich improvisation. The melody jumps between registers as chords search for resolution, giving the section its weighty feel. Eventually, with a couple minutes left in the track, a theme in a major, more hopeful-sounding key is incorporated. Jarrett works thru the resolution and the track ends, suspended in the high register of the piano. The track was originally split to be placed on LP and even listening on CD when looking at the tracks switching over it makes the listener consider if the cuts are precise, or if they left a second or more out.
Pt. 2 B starts out firmly in a minor key and Jarrett once again sets up a vamp that he can improvise over. He stays in this intense atmosphere for six or seven minutes before expanding the harmony further out in a minimalist expansion. He uses full chords in the midrange of the piano at loud volume for maximum emotional intensity. To compensate for the broken sustain pedal he uses a rocking set of inner voices creating a sound reminiscent of minimalist composers Steve Reich or Philip Glass but with more harmonic motion. Just before the 12-minute mark a new major, or lighthearted, theme is introduced. This is my personally my favorite track. It seems as if he has figured out the instrument and opened up the faucet of his creativity. The improvisation content of these next few minutes always blows me away if I am listening carefully.
The record has an additional track but I am out of space. I could write more about it but you should listen to it. It’s inspired; it is great music. Plus, it almost never happened! In his book Free Jazz Ekkehard Jost suggests “In Jazz it is not always appropriate to ascribe the initiative for shaping new principles of creation, or abandoning old ones, to an individual or a small circle of innovators.” His theory is that only in the “rarest instances” does an individual provide a beacon of genre defining work. It seems to me as if The Köln Concert captures one of these rare instances.
-         Doug Anderson

Monday, February 19, 2018

I'd Love to Turn You On #199 - James Booker - Resurrection of the Bayou Maharajah


It’s 1982. Let’s say you’re visiting New Orleans and you want to get out of the touristy French Quarter, past the scammers telling you they know where you got your shoes and into some less dressed up version of the city. Maybe you find yourself heading a little bit west to the Uptown neighborhood of Carrollton and you drop into the legendary Maple Leaf Bar on Oak Street. Maybe you weren’t even planning to do it, but the sounds of a piano spilling out into the street and a wild, high, bluesy voice drew you in. And there, inside the small and loosely crowded bar, a vocally enthusiastic crowd is swinging, clapping, and snapping to the loopy rhythms of a skinny man with an eye patch seated at the piano. That man, you find out, is James Booker, and he’s been the house pianist here from the mid-70s until today.

Asking around a bit you find out that he is, to be kind, a bit of an eccentric with a widely-acknowledged drug problem. Sometimes he’ll stop mid-song and stare forward at something nobody else can see, sometimes he won’t touch the piano but will sit there talking into the mic (much to the consternation of the crowd who are there to hear him play), sometimes he doesn’t show up at all. But tonight he’s there showing off his prodigious, classically-schooled chops and it’s a hot set, bouncing from classics like “Junco Partner” (which he absolutely owns and could’ve written about himself) and “St. James Infirmary” to Cuban composer Ernesto Lecuona to Chopin’s “Minute Waltz” in the blink of an eye. And those are just the songs he plays in their entirety; there are also the medleys.

Normally, you’d think, a medley is a showcase meant to edit down familiar hits the artist is tired of playing to satisfy their regular fans. Not so, here - they’re the highlights, with Booker’s broad tastes (and humor, definitely his sense of humor) in full effect as he makes associations that lead him through a nearly 10-minute grouping that hits two Larry Williams tunes, a Stax staple followed by a Motown staple, and then ends on his own “Classified.” The title? - “Medley: Slow Down/Bony Maronie/Knock On Wood/I Heard It Through The Grapevine/Classified.” And it’s a glorious demonstration of his dazzling timing, his vocals that veer from resolutely soulful to a wild yodel, his ornately filigreed piano style, and once again, his timing, with its deep-in-the-pocket funk even when it’s lurching or careening forward at a rocketing tempo. And that crowd, oh, the crowd – they’re with him for every beat, eating right out of the palm of his hand. It’s a masterful way to kick off the album and it rolls right into the seven and a half equally rollicking minutes of “Tico Tico” mixed with Booker’s own terrific “Papa Was A Rascal.” And then it just keeps going for 72 minutes total.

And now it’s 2018. This CD, with every aforementioned performance (and more), was released 25 years ago, collected from over 60 hours of performances recorded on the Maple Leaf’s house system between 1977 and 1982, the year before Booker passed away at only 43. Somewhere in there while playing at the club Booker met Harry Connick Sr. and took a very young Harry Connick Jr. under his wing as a student and protégé, teaching him piano technique, sometimes inviting him up to play alongside him on the piano bench. Dr. John was once heard to describe him as "the best black, gay, one-eyed junkie piano genius New Orleans has ever produced." And though his recording career was sporadic - a few studio sessions and some live (mostly) European dates interrupted by stretches in jail - Resurrection of the Bayou Maharajah (and its nearly-as-good all-instrumental companion piece Spiders on the Keys) showcase Booker’s genius in a succession of high points without the inconsistencies that nearly everyone who talks fondly about Booker notes as a result of his problems with drugs and alcohol. It’s how you can imagine he would be on a good night, and you can easily put yourself right into the Maple Leaf on a warm night in 1982, listening to him masterfully work the keyboard with his over-the-top flourishes skirting right on the edge of absurdity, but somehow keeping it all right in the pocket. It’s a beautiful thing and a great tribute to this troubled genius.


-         Patrick Brown